Never Forget
by Enchantress of the Darkness
Summary: This is based on the picture of dorian gray by Wilde and Paradise Lost by Milton. Here Dorian meets Satan in a rather unusual way. I hope you like it.


Enchantress   
  
Never Forget  
  
"English weather is always so dreary," complained Dorian Gray as he descended from his carriage. He noticed there were people sitting idle on the street. Small children dressed sloppily in rags ran up to him, arms outstretched, pleading for a handout. Dorian paid them no mind. He was important and had somewhere to go. "Once I figure where that is," he whispered to no one but the battering wind. He turned the corner and spotted a small yet elegant café. He checked his pockets and finding enough money in them, entered the café and took a seat by the window. Just as he had received his coffee and cake, a severe chill ran down his spine. "Odd," he said replacing his scarf around his neck. Seconds later, he felt feverishly hot. His coffee felt cold against his burning skin. As he started to gain his composure, a blast of wind announced the arrival of a woman into the café. She wore a long black coat and a scarf tied securely around her head. Dorian felt his soul pull toward her as if she could control it. He leapt from his seat and to her side. "He.He.Hello, there's a table here if you like," he sputtered and stumbled over his words like an infant but she simply laughed a husky, sultry laugh before she agreed. "Can I take your coat and scarf?" She untied her scarf to reveal raven hair that reflected the fluorescent lighting of the café and eyes that were a brilliant green. When she handed him her coat, he lost the ability to breath. She wore a short red dress that accentuated every curve of her body. "Um.I haven't seen many women here wear dresses like that."  
  
"Well," she began silkily, "I assure you there aren't many English women like me." She took her seat and ordered ice water with her coffee. She added nothing to the black coffee and finished it before it had a chance to cool. "So tell me, Mr.?"  
"Gray, Dorian Gray," he interjected on the cue from her eyes.  
"Hmm, Dorian Gray, tell me, what am I?" Her question astounded him. She was fire and ice, wind and rain, pain and pleasure. "No, don't speak," she whispered, "You answered with your eyes."  
"Pardon me, but who are you?"  
"My name is Morgana Devilla and I am honored to meet the infamous Dorian Gray."  
"Your name is supposed to mean something to me?"  
"Don't get arrogant Mr. Gray, it leads to problems. Morgana is the Celtic Goddess of Dark Magick, everything vile. She churns the nightmares of your subconscious." Dorian suddenly realized the condescending tone in her voice.  
"Look, madam, I am a gentleman. You will treat me with the proper respect!" he blurted causing all the heads in the café to turn their way. Then he saw it. Her green eyes, once so bright, darkened before turning blood red. The people of the café collapsed some onto the floor and others face first onto their tables.  
"Mr. Gray," she began slowly, her voice laced with poison, "you have chosen your fate this night."  
"What? I don't understand."  
  
"Oh but you do, Dorian," she slipped in between bouts of maniacal laughter. "You have been living a life of indulgence, of pleasure. All because I gave it to you and you want to throw it away? I can't let you do that." Dorian trembled uncontrollably in his seat as she rose and moved her chair to sit next to him. She leaned closer and hissed in his ear. "You gave me your word, love, and I gave you the gift you asked for. I simply want to make sure I get what's mine." She stretched to grasp her water goblet. The instant she touched it, the water boiled and frothed. Dorian gathered his last nerve and spoke in a slightly wavering tone.  
"If I make confession, I'll be absolved and God will--" He was abruptly silenced when her hand whipped out and grasped his throat.  
"It's too late! You killed with my gift. You are my puppet, my pet. I am ageless, my love. I can wait for you to come to me and you will come." With her last words the pressure on his throat increased until breath was scarce. "You are my fallen angel now," she whispered much more softly, "And I will get you soul. Never forget." She kissed him, hard, and when she felt his will crumble; she released him, her anger satisfied. Dorian sat trembling on the verge of tears as Morgana rose, collected her things, and left quietly. Dorian slowly collected his composure and ran outside. The people of the streets were gone and he was completely alone until he heard her voice on the wind, soft as a caress, "never forget." Dorian fell to his knees in the street and wept.  
  
Several weeks later, the curiosity over the fate of Mr. Gray failed to vanish. "Hello, sir. I'm Thomas Moore from the London Herald. Can I ask you a few questions?"  
"Certainly, and no need to call me sir, call me Harry." "Very well, did you know Mr. Gray and do you know what happened to him?" Lord Henry thought a moment before responding. "I did, fine boy, pity he went mad."  
"Mad?"  
"Yes, kept raving about some crazy vixen and wanting to go to confession. When he finally went to go, he was trampled to death by a carriage without a driver. Terrible accident--"  
"It wasn't an accident," replied a soft voice. The two men looked down to see a little girl wearing a pale yellow dress holding a snapdragon. "He was gambling with things he couldn't control. He had a debt to pay and when he tried to trick the debt collector, he was punished." The men laughed and the girl smiled.  
"What's your name?" Lord Henry asked her.  
"Morgane."  
"So child," asked Thomas after a brief chuckle, "what did Mr. Gray owe his debtor?" The snapdragon burst into white hot flames and the child's eyes flashed.  
"His soul to me," she replied with a laugh before the whole of London went dark.  
  
The world was forgiving and time swam on. Years flowed by as smoothly as waves yet Gary had carved a notch into history. In modern day New York City, Morgan Devillante, a seventeen year old high school senior, was watching the news when a world news report caught her undivided attention. "This day in history, in London," the reporter began in a solemn tone, "many people were killed in an apparent fire explosion. Among the casualties were Herald reporter Thomas Moore and a gentleman, Lord Henry--" The reporter continued but Morgan couldn't hear him. She was too busy scorching the night with her laughter. 


End file.
